Embracing Late Winter Sadness
Physical Setting & Preparation
Find a quiet space where you can sit undisturbed, preferably near a window where you can observe the sky. Place a small bowl of water before you, a stone or crystal that feels cool to the touch, and if possible, a branch from a still-dormant tree. Sit on the floor or a cushion with your legs crossed or in a chair with both feet flat on the ground. Rest your hands palms down on your thighs, connecting you to the earth. Close your eyes and take three deep breaths, allowing your shoulders to drop with each exhale.
"Even as the mist shrouds the sacred grove, so does separation obscure but never sever our bonds. The ancient wisdom teaches us that love, like the evergreen, endures through all seasons." — Wendy
Wendy’s Healing Compendium Daily
Opening Invocation | Fosgladh
Anns an t-seachdamh latha den Mhàrt,
Tha mi a' seasamh eadar dà àm.
Eadar dorchadas agus solas,
Eadar cadal agus dùsgadh.
A Mhàthair na talmhainn, cluinn mo mhulad.
On this seventh day of March,
I stand between two times.
Between darkness and light,
Between slumber and awakening.
Mother of the earth, hear my sadness.
Feel the quality of early March—the seventh day—when winter still holds the land in its embrace while spring whispers promises on the occasional warm breeze. The earth is stirring beneath frozen ground, but transformation happens first in darkness. Place your awareness on the space within your chest where sadness dwells. Visualize this emotion as a pool of deep blue water, still and reflective, held safely within you.
Body of the Working | Corp
Tha mulad orm mar an talamh fuar,
Chan eil e ceàrr, chan eil e cunnartach.
Tha e mar geamhradh anns an anam,
Àm airson fois, àm airson leigheis.
I carry sadness like the cold earth,
It is not wrong, it is not dangerous.
It is like winter in the soul,
A time for rest, a time for healing.
Place your hands on the bowl of water before you. Water is the element of emotion, of flowing and yielding. Just as the late winter streams flow beneath ice, your sadness moves beneath the surface of your daily life. Touch the water with your fingertips and feel its coolness. This is the touch of the Mother Earth, who understands that sadness is not to be banished but honored.
Bring your awareness to your body, scanning slowly from your feet upward. Where do you feel the weight of sadness? Perhaps in your chest, your throat, or behind your eyes? As you locate these places, imagine the Mother's hands gently cradling each one. Her touch does not remove the sadness but acknowledges it, gives it space to be, just as the earth gives space for winter's necessary dormancy.
The Deep Working | An Obair Dhomhain
A Mhàthair na talmhainn, gabh ri mo bhròn,
Mar a ghabhas tu ris a' gheamhradh fhèin.
Teagaisg dhomh a bhith foighidneach,
Mar a tha thu foighidneach leis na craobhan loma.
Mother of the earth, accept my sorrow,
As you accept winter itself.
Teach me to be patient,
As you are patient with the bare trees.
Take the stone or crystal in your hands and feel its weight. Close your eyes and envision yourself standing in a late winter forest. The trees are bare, their branches etched against a pearl-gray sky. A light mist hangs in the air, softening all edges. The forest floor is a tapestry of fallen leaves, damp and returning to the earth. This landscape is not desolate but dignified in its quietude.
In this sacred grove, you see a figure approaching—the Mother of the Earth herself. She wears a mantle of moss and lichen, her hair the color of rich soil. Her eyes hold the wisdom of countless seasons. She reaches out her hands to receive your sadness.
Breathe deeply and with each exhale, visualize your sadness as a blue mist flowing from your body into her waiting hands. She receives it not as a burden but as a gift, a necessary part of the cycle of your emotional seasons. She transforms your sadness into nourishment for future joy, just as winter's decay feeds spring's growth.
Feel the gentle pressure of the stone in your hands, a reminder of the earth's constant presence. Remain in this exchange for several minutes, breathing slowly and deeply.
Afterthought | Smuain Dheiridh
Take a moment to contemplate:
What wisdom might my sadness be offering that joy cannot teach? How might honoring this emotional winter prepare the soil of my spirit for future growth? In what ways am I like the March landscape—outwardly still in winter's grasp but inwardly preparing for renewal?
Closing Blessing | Beannachd Dheiridh
Tha mi a' toirt taing dhut, a Mhàthair na talmhainn,
Airson do ghliocais agus do chomhfhurtachd.
Mar a thèid an geamhradh seachad gu earrach,
Mar sin thèid mo mhulad seachad gu sìth.
Tha mi a' giùlan do bheannachd leam.
I give thanks to you, Mother of the earth,
For your wisdom and your comfort.
As winter passes into spring,
So too shall my sadness pass into peace.
I carry your blessing with me.
Gently return the stone to its place. Touch the branch from the dormant tree, acknowledging that even in apparent lifelessness, vital energy flows unseen. Finally, touch the water once more, honoring the emotional depths you have explored.
Rise slowly, carrying the earth's wisdom within you. Know that just as the seventh of March holds both winter's end and spring's beginning, you too can hold both sadness and the promise of renewal.
Oh, I need that promise of renewal! Love reading these every day. If I ever get out of this funk, I promise I’ll actually follow the instructions!